


The Distance Of The Setting Sun

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, M/M, Road Trip, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the apocalypse off the table and Sam returned from the pit, Team Free Will finds themselves at loose ends. When Sam suggests they take a holiday, Dean expects many things. Wearing flip-flops isn’t one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/2

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers: up to 5.22  
> standard disclaimers apply
> 
>  **a/n** : Set just before season six, taking a different bend in the road.
> 
> Written for Nyoka's prompt: _Team Free Will, roadtrip. Sam and Dean take Cas to see their favorite places on the road._

I

 

monarch, montana  
 _no fixed plans_

Ten miles out of Monarch, Sam and Dean hunted down an angel-turned-arsonist who saw his calling in burning churches. Ever since Michael vanished off the radar, they’d run into a number of rogue wings, trapped them and left the rest to Cas. So far Cas had been forced to kill one of his den-brothers, the other four he’d dragged back to Heaven.

That day, they’d summoned Cas for the clean-up but somehow the hunt segued into dinner, greasy pizza and a baseball game. Cas didn’t eat but he stuck around, shared a victory beer on Dean’s insistence and watched the game with them.

As they sprawled in their motel room, Sam explained the rules to Cas but Dean was content to stretch out on his bed, ankles crossed and a pillow at his back. He was dozing off when the game finished but snapped awake when Sam switched off the TV.

“’Time is it?” Dean mumbled.

“Long past your bedtime, apparently,” Sam quipped, rolling off the bed and brushing empty pizza boxes off the mattress. He scratched the back of his head and looked over at Cas who stared at the dark TV. Cas perched on the room’s only chair, hands on his knees.

“Cas, if you want to stay I’ll take the floor,” Sam offered. Dean almost added a ‘no need for that’ but caught himself just in time.

“No,” Cas answered and got to his feet. “I’m leaving.” Passing by Dean’s bed, he placed the empty beer bottle on the nightstand. Dean sat up just when Cas was close and caught a whiff of something green and lemony, some wild herb scent Dean couldn’t place. His gaze snapped to Cas’s face but Cas didn’t meet his eyes.

 _Hallucinating_ , Dean thought. Great. God, he needed sleep.

He heaved his body to the side off the bed – was it his imagination or were his legs heavier now that he’d aged past thirty?

“What, are the sheets softer in heaven?” Dean joked and hauled his duffel off the floor.

“As a matter of fact they are,” Cas shot back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I have to take your word for it, huh?” Dean said and felt his mouth twitch. Sam padded around the room, found the bag that held his clothes, pulled out a t-shirt and sniffed at it.

“It’s okay to flip him the bird,” Sam told Cas and discarded the t-shirt for another one.

Dean smirked and allowed himself to soak in the picture of Sam. Not that Sam digging through his dirty laundry would warm his heart, usually, but Dean got caught up in simple stuff, savoring the proof that Sam was back. He still woke up some nights, convinced that the bed next to him was empty.

It’d been three months since Sam showed up at Lisa’s doorstep, no forewarning, no fanfares. They still had no clue to why and how and with all his heart Dean didn’t care. He was ready to put all things Apocalypse behind them and roll with it.

“You’re such a one-night stand, Cas,” Dean continued. “Would it hurt your rep to stick around for breakfast?”

“I could be back in the morning,” Cas suggested and Dean had to give it to him. Nobody feigned oblivion as well as Cas. Or maybe he was serious.

“Hey, absolutely,” Sam said. “I wanted to ask you about an exorcism I found in Blumhardt’s.”

“Could you be more obsessed?” Dean asked and Sam threw a pair of socks at him.

“I leave you to it then,” Cas said and vanished, the draft from his wings pushing another wave of Herbal Essences into Dean’s face. On the far side of the beds, Sam skinned out of his shirt and started changing into his bed clothes.

“Did you smell that?” Dean asked before he could stop himself.

“What?” Sam mumbled before pulling a faded, probably un-smelly t-shirt down over his head.

“Cas,” Dean said, digging through his duffel in search of his toothbrush. “He smelled strange.”

“Smelled?” Sam echoed, staring at Dean like he’d grown a second head.

Dean felt his face flush, realizing how he sounded, quizzing Sam about Cas’ scent for godsake. “Not _smelled_ smelled,” he grumbled, “Just, like, you know … Didn’t you notice something flowery?”

“Dude.”

“Forget it,” Dean snapped, grabbed his toothbrush and fled into the bathroom.

 

: : :

 

Dean slept in the next morning, sprawling on his bed like a starfish. When he saw Sam had gone for breakfast he took his time in the shower, too. By the time he made his way to the diner across the street, Dean felt more rested than he had in weeks.

Sam sat in a booth at the back of the diner, his laptop open in front of him. Dean sighed, went to the counter and ordered his breakfast before joining his geek brother. As he slid onto the bench, he noticed the deep crease between Sam’s brows.

“It’s ten-thirty,” Sam remarked without looking up.

“You don’t say,” Dean shot back and stretched his legs under the table. Sam clucked his tongue and lifted his cup. Dean hoped there was at least some coffee under all those layers of frothy milk.

In between sips, Sam studied the laptop’s screen and two newspapers. Dean leaned back on his bench and waited for his breakfast. April had been monsoon season so far, but sunlight flooded the diner and promised a fine day. Closing his eyes, Dean soaked up the heat on his face. Someone had opened a window and a cool, fresh breeze mixed with the smell of strawberry syrup on hot waffles.

“There’s a report of a rabid black dog in Wyoming,” Sam said, flipping through the pages of newspaper one. “And something’s broke into a fish cannery in Portland. Ate two crates of sardines and a foreman.”

“Sam, come on,” Dean groaned and opened his eyes. “We just got off a job. Take it easy, why don’t you?”

The waitress came over with his coffee and Sam waited until she left before asking, “You don’t want to drive to Portland?”

“It’s not that,” Dean said and reached for the coffee. “But we’ve been working two weeks straight. A few days of R&R won’t hurt.”

“I could drop you off in Cicero,” Sam offered. “If you want a time out.”

“Dude,” Dean said and thudded his coffee mug back on the table. “We’re not having that conversation again.”

“I’m just saying… ”

“Yeah, don’t.”

It had been two months since they’d left Lisa’s place and Sam just couldn’t let it go. He’d been itching to get back in the game but he refused to accept that Dean felt the same way. The morning they’d driven off, Sam had stopped the car just outside Lisa’s driveway and said, _You don’t have to come just for my sake._ Dean had told him to shut up and drive.

He didn’t regret saying goodbye. Lisa and Ben had saved him in so many ways and he cared for them but all the time he’d stayed at their house, Dean had felt out of tune. He’d rather die than admit this out loud, but Cicero had made him feel like Alice in the rabbit hole. Everything was either too big or too small and he couldn’t find the potion that made him fit. Not even Sam’s return made much of a difference.

A place of his own, a settled life: He should want that, and part of him did, but the rest of him pulled in a different direction. The home idyll didn’t satisfy him. Dean didn’t know what would, but in the end he knew he couldn’t stay.

Lisa’s house had looked pretty in the rear-view mirror but the road had looked better. The sound of tires rolling over concrete had filled Dean with a relief so strong his skin had seemed to hum with it. Dean felt like he could grow to accept that.

Not Sam. He believed he’d robbed Dean of his happily ever after and no amount of arguing could convince him otherwise.

“You were the one who said he wanted some time off,” Sam muttered. “No need to bite my head off.” He hunched his shoulders and slumped behind his laptop.

“If you want to get rid of me,” Dean went on, “why don’t you tie me to a lamppost and drive off?”

Sam whipped up his head and flashed Dean a glare. “That’s not it and you know it.”

“Yeah?” Dean drawled. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“Drink your coffee,” Sam snapped. “You’re an asshole without caffeine.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered and lifted his mug.

“Jerk,” Sam shot back but his mouth twitched into a grin.

While Sam returned his attention to his laptop, the waitress returned and set Dean’s breakfast on the table: a four-egg omelette with sausage, bacon, roasted peppers and onions, mushrooms, diced tomatoes, shredded Cheddar cheese and hashbrowns. Dean looked at the pile of neatly assorted food on his plate, reached for the ketchup bottle and started chugging. Sam watched him and folded his lips into a thin line.

“Sip your latte, Francis,” Dean grumbled and mashed the ketchup into his omelette.

Sam’s face pinched even tighter. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah.”

Dean felt like they were gearing up for another hissy fit but before Sam could pick up the gauntlet, the diner’s door opened and Cas walked in. As usual, Cas stopped and looked around as if he was marking every single person in the room. _Like John Wayne_ , Dean thought and grinned. He remembered one night at Lisa’s place, watching _The Trail Beyond_ with Cas sitting in one corner of the sofa, Dean in the other and Ben munching popcorn between them. Lisa had taken one look at them, rolled her eyes and gone off to her yoga lessons.

Cas spotted Dean and Sam, walked across the diner and sat down next to Dean. He folded his hands on the table and just sat.

“Good morning to you,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and peppers and Sam rolled his eyes.

“You want to order something, Cas?” Sam asked, ready to wave the waitress over to their table. Cas shook his head, though.

“I already had a cup of coffee, thank you,” he said and studied the mess on Dean’s plate. Dean dug his fork into the drenched eggs and chewed defiantly.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, sounding curious. “Where?”

“Kerkyra.”

“Come again?” Dean choked.

“It’s the capital of Corfu,” Cas supplied. Meeting Sam and Dean’s blank stare, he added: “That’s an island in Greece.”

“I know,” Dean said, ignoring the twitch of Sam’s eyebrows. “What were you doing in Corfu?”

Cas shrugged. “Back last year, I thought God might be there. It’s a nice place.” He looked at them as if this explained everything. “The coffee is very good.”

“The coffee is… ” Dean echoed but Sam overrode him.

“How often have you been back there?” Sam asked and shut his laptop.

“A few times,” Cas admitted. “After everything that happened I find Heaven a little… restricting.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean said. “Are you telling us you’ve been hanging out on some Greek island for a holiday?”

“It’s a good place to rest,” Cas argued.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “That’s what they call a holiday. I swear, every time I think I’ve got you figured out... ” Still chuckling, he was ready to return to his eggs when he caught Sam staring at Cas. Dean froze, fork in his mouth because Sam had _that look_. Like he would love to take off your face, scoop out your brain and find out how it worked. Cas shifted and unfolded his hands on the table.

“You can zap everywhere, right, Cas?” Sam asked and Cas nodded carefully.

“Yes.”

“Distance is not an issue?”

“No.”

“You can take people, too?”

“You know I can,” Cas replied, raising a brow.

“So you could take us to Greece?” Sam went on.

“You want to go to Greece?” Dean asked and dribbled omelet on the plate.

“Shush,” Sam said and flapped a hand at him _._ Dean was so surprised he didn’t even stab him with his fork.

“You could?” Sam repeated, shoved his laptop aside and bent closer to Cas.

“Yes,” Cas said and leaned back on his bench.

“Awesome,” Sam cried and slapped his hand on the table. “Why didn’t we think of that before?”

“Think of what?” Dean asked. He missed something here, he knew he did.

“Greece, Italy, Thailand,” Sam said and grinned. “Shit. We could go to the Chatham Islands if we wanted to.” By then, he seemed one step short of bouncing on his seat.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t understand either,” Cas agreed, watching Sam as though he’d sprouted a pair of blue horns.

“I’m talking about a vacation, guys,” Sam said brightly. “I’m talking about us three trotting the globe.”

“Are you nuts?” Dean asked. “Why would we do that?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Sam countered. “Hell, I've wanted to go to Europe since prep school. I just never thought we'd get the chance. Don’t tell me you never thought about going out of state? And I don’t mean Tijuana for a stupid donkey show.”

“What’s wrong with Mexico?” Dean began but Sam didn’t let him finish.

“Think about it,” he continued, excited. “It’s perfect. You wouldn’t even have to fly.”

“Sam. Come on.”

“Why not?” Sam insisted. “What’s so fucking important here that can’t wait a week or two?”

 _You wanted to hunt_ , Dean thought but didn’t say. Ten minutes ago, Sam had been stacking up their to-do list ten cases high, and now he wanted to kick back on Bacardi island? Dean didn’t get it but Sam’s grin made him bite his tongue.

“Cas, what do you think?” Sam wanted to know.

Cas looked at him and Dean. “It is possible,” he allowed but his tone suggested he still had no clue what had gotten into Sam. That made two of them.

“Awesome,” Sam repeated and grabbed a napkin. He fumbled in his pockets for a pen and found one, of course. “Where do you guys want to go?”

 

 

II

 

rome, italy  
 _all roads lead to_

 

Rome. Of course Sam wanted to go to Rome.

When Sam had mentioned Europe, Dean had thought of the Riviera coast, French girls and monokinis. He should’ve known better. They’d been in town for three days and Sam had them running all over the place, visiting the Colosseum, dragging Cas to Vatican City of all places. Cas didn’t complain, though, he stoked the fire, waxing about history Sam didn’t find in his guidebook and Sam soaked it up like a sponge.

After two hours walking around the ruins of the Roman Forum ( _They’re just_ stones, _Sam_ ), Dean quit. While Sam and Cas went on to the Da Vinci museum, Dean took himself to the dingy part of town far away from the tour groups. Big cities made him nervous: He didn’t like pushing through a crowd, feeling people’s breath on his neck and their elbows in his ribs.

The backstreets were better. Dean passed bars that wouldn’t open during the day and a few second-hand clothes shops displaying their merchandise on the house-walls.

Back at the Forum, Dean had picked up a piece of cypress wood out of sheer boredom. It was still in his pocket. He liked the feel of it, the flaking bark, the bulk that warmed quickly in his palm. It reminded him of the hardwood grip of his first semi-automatic and the scarred desk-top in Bobby’s library _._ He wondered how it would feel if smoothed. When he passed a hardware store, he went inside and bought a few sheets of sandpaper on a whim. Sanding down the wood would keep his hands busy and prevent him from throwing Sam’s guidebook into the Tiber.

Afternoon found Dean outside a nameless café, feeding cookie crumbs to stray cats. He was on his second cup of coffee, licking _crema_ from a spoon. Ever since they got here, Sam was in Latte Macciamoccaccino Heaven but Dean had to admit the Italians cooked a strong brew.

He stretched his legs out onto the cobbled stones and tried to digest that they were on shore leave. God, he didn’t remember the last time he went on a vacation. The only memory that sprang to mind reached back to a trip to Florida he had to endure when he was ten. That had been one of the summers John left his sons with his sister-in-law. Dean still remembered Aunt Pam telling them how nice it would be to spend a week in a hotel by the sea. Even John had approved, deciding his sons deserved a normal summer.

Dean hadn’t known why staying in a hotel instead of a motel should be so special. The only difference was he had to sit up straight at the table. He remembered the old people in Hawaiian shirts and the lounge music. Perry Como and The Blow Monkeys, what the hell. Dancing classes in the afternoon because everybody wanted to be Patrick Swayze.

Even then Dean hadn’t understood the attraction of normal.

This time might be better, though. At least no-one expected him to tuck a napkin into the collar of his shirt.

One of the cats, a thin, grey kitten, put its paws against Dean’s leg and stretched to lick at his fingertips. Dean smiled and rubbed his thumb over the kitten’s head. When his cell phone started buzzing, Dean picked it off the table top and the kitten scampered off.

“Hey, where are you?” Sam’s voice came to him from the phone.

“Stretched out in bed with Giorgia Palmas,” Dean replied. “You?”

“We’re just outside Castel Sant’Angelo,” Sam answered, ignoring the jibe. “You want to come?”

“Let me think,” Dean drawled. “ _No_.”

Sam didn’t react to the sarcasm, either. Dean figured he was too entranced by the prospect of wearing yet another audio guide. “’Kay,” Sam said. “We’re heading to this bar later on. It’s just off the Spanish Steps, you can’t miss it. Meet you there?”

“You bet,” Dean said. “Hey, I just bought this ‘I love Rome’ t-shirt. You want one, too?”

“Wait a sec,” Sam cut him short and spoke to someone on his side of the phone. “What? No, Cas, I think that was da Montelupo. Dean, listen, I got to go. See you later.”

“In a while, crocodile,” Dean muttered and switched off his cell phone. He imagined Sam and Cas whizzing around Castel Sant’Angelo (Angel Castle… was he the only one to notice the irony?), pointing out the architecture and poring over info plates. He sighed, shook his head and drained the rest of his coffee.

 

: : :

 

Dean walked to the bar at sunset, figuring Sam and Cas had finished sightseeing by then. The place Sam had mentioned seemed to be a jazz club; the front door was papered over with posters and gig announcements. A lantern with the bar’s name hung above the door. “ _Il Museo,”_ Dean read. “Come on.”

Pushing through the velvet curtain just behind the door, he walked down into the cellar where people happily ignored the European-wide smoking ban. A haze of blue smoke hung under the cellar’s ceiling and obscured the blue neon sign above the bar. No-one used the stage but Miles Davis drifted from the speakers.

Cas and Sam sat at a table, a city map spread between them. Dean noticed with relief that they had parked their drinks on the map and weren’t finger-tracing the next stretch of their Grand Tour.

“Dean,” Cas greeted him and Dean tossed his jacket over the chair next to him. One of the waiters, a tall guy in a t-shirt with the bar’s name on it, came over to take his order. Dean ordered a beer and a round of shots.

“We were just talking about where to go next,” Sam informed Dean and shoved a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“And?” Dean asked, sitting down.

“Cas says the Chinese Wall is good,” Sam answered and licked peanut salt from his fingers.

“One of the seven world wonders,” Dean said. “Kind of cliché, don’t you think?”

“They call them that for a reason,” Cas remarked.

“Excuse me Mr. Lonely Planet.”

The waiter returned with Dean’s beer and a round of Tequila. He placed the drinks on the table and eyed the near-empty bowl of snacks with a frown. He made no move to refill it. As soon as he was gone, Sam decimated the remaining peanuts and sucked the crumbs from his palm.

“Dude,” Dean said. “What’s with the munchies?”

Sam looked up in surprise. “Huh? Nothing. I’m just hungry.”

“Don’t tell me,” Dean drawled and leaned back in his chair. “Between all the excitement you plain forgot to eat?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s the birth-place of pizza, Sammy. You should be ashamed.”

“You want to pull pigtails, or do you want to drink?”

“Tough decision,” Dean said, but he lifted his Tequila and chinked glasses with Sam and Cas. Cas knocked back the booze without turning a hair. Sam drank too fast but that’s what happened when you crunched salty peanuts by the handful.

“One round feels awfully lonely,” Dean remarked and put his empty glass upside down on the table.

Across the table, Sam turned the salt-shaker between his fingers. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We need lemons,” Dean decided.

“Why?” Cas asked and frowned.

“Trust me,” Dean said. “We? Need lemons.” He put a hand on Cas’s shoulder and pointed to the bar. “So why don’t you go over there and ask them to give us some? And bring the bottle of Tequila while you’re at it.”

“Why me?” Cas asked, eyeing Dean with suspicion.

“Because if you want to profligate with humans you need training,” Dean said, gave him a wad of money and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ask nicely.” Cas huffed but left the table, heading for the bar.

In the meantime, Sam took out his bucket-list napkin and smoothed it out on the table. Back in the U.S., Sam had scribbled down a number of places and Cas had suggested a few, as well. So far Dean hadn’t contributed, deciding Sam’s enthusiasm would be enough for two.

“Easter Islands,” Sam read out loud; then sniggered. “You think that would be good?”

Dean shrugged, watching Cas talk to the bartender before he turned to his beer. “I don’t care, Sam, you choose.”

“Come on, there’ve got to be places you want to go,” Sam urged but Dean meant what he said. He didn’t mind if they stayed in Rome or went some place else. He was just getting used to the small pleasures of taking each day as it came. No deadlines, no Lucifer rising, no apocalypse. The horizon stretched clear before them and it did feel like freedom.

“This here’s just fine,” Dean said and lifted his beer to his mouth.

When he put down his bottle he caught Sam staring at his napkin with a clenched jaw. All the elation had gone from his face as if he’d flipped a switch.

“What?” Dean asked, choking on his last swig of beer.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “There've got to be things you want.”

“I do.”

Sam looked at him and Dean could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves.

“What do you want me to say?” Dean demanded, honestly puzzled.

“Nothing,” Sam said, then added more firmly, “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Dean had a feeling it mattered a hell of a lot except Sam preferred to close up like a clam. Which fit the pattern: Lately, talking to Sam was about as easy as pulling teeth from a mother grizzly. Before Dean could pry, however, Cas returned to the table with the Tequila and a bowl full of lemon slices.

“The people here are very friendly,” Cas announced.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Why?”

“A woman offered to buy me a drink.”

“A woman?” Sam echoed and grinned. “And?”

Cas put down the lemons and looked at him, uncomprehending.

“Did you let her?” Sam specified.

“We already have drinks,” Cas pointed out.

Sam shook his head and began to pour them a round of shots. “How you can stick around my brother and be that innocent is a mystery to me.”

Dean quickly swallowed his beer before he could splutter. _Innocent_ , he thought. _Not really_. An image of Cas unbuttoning his slacks flashed through his mind so clearly, his cock jerked in response.

As Sam handed out the shots, Dean turned and spotted a long-legged brunette by the bar. She had a nice dress on, something flowery with a bit of lace. She was also smiling their way but her attention seemed fixed on Cas’s back.

Before he could stop himself, Dean stretched his arm along the backrest of Cas’s chair. The girl noticed and her gaze slipped to Dean’s face. She hesitated, then lifted her drink in salute. Dean nodded at her and felt a stupid wash of pride. When he turned back to the table, Sam was busy showing Cas how to salt the back of his hand.

“Is this a hunter thing?” Cas asked and Sam laughed.

“No, man,” Sam said and held out a slice of lemon. “But it sure kills demons.”

 

: : :

 

Sam had always been a lightweight drinker and some things didn’t change, even if you went to Hell and back. By the time the bar closed, Dean had to hold Sam up so he wouldn’t keel over. His own head felt somewhat fuzzy and he couldn’t stop giggling over Sam’s clumsy attempts to walk.

Cas, who had drunk as much as the two of them or more, seemed unaffected, of course. He took most of Sam’s weight when they staggered up the stairs from the cellar and Sam slung his arm around Cas’s shoulder, slurring, “You’re alright, Cas, you’re alright.”

As soon as they were out of sight from the remaining patrons, Cas zapped them to their bathroom back at the hotel.

“I’m fine,” Sam protested as his feet hit the floor tiles. The next second, he was on his knees and doubled over the rim of the bath tub.

“Saw that coming,” Dean announced and peeled his jacket off his shoulders. Sam lost the Tequila and approximately one gallon of café latte in the tub.

“Yes,” Cas agreed and copied Dean, taking off his trenchcoat and folding it on a chair. Together, they managed to haul Sam onto his bed.

Dean went over to the window and pushed open one of the shutters to let in some air. The room smelled stale, like damp laundry. They’d debated bunking at the Westin, but people at a multi-star hotel would frown at their scuffed denims and washed-out shirts. They’d be quicker to sniff out a fake credit card, too. This was alright, though. The room had high walls and fancy stucco on the ceiling. Cobwebs, too, but they’d never been picky. Besides, the state he was in, Sam wouldn’t appreciate a chandelier and a two storey suite anyway.

“Scoot over, peanut breath,” Dean ordered, sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed and began to pull off his brother’s shoes. Sam squirmed and watched him with half-lidded eyes. Passing them by, Cas retreated to the balcony to give them some privacy.

“Why can’t you be happy?” Sam mumbled and pushed up on his elbows.

“What?” Dean asked, startled.

“You didn’t stay with Lisa,” Sam began and Dean tried to head him off at the pass.

“Sam.”

“She was your way out, man,” Sam insisted and clutched Dean’s sleeve in his fist.

“Who says I want out?” Dean blurted and clenched his jaw the moment the words were out. Truth was, he’d had it up to here with Sam’s either/or choices. It was either suffer the Winchester way or amputate their past.

Dean knew where his brother came from, of course. They’d both grown up with the weight of their father’s loss pressing on their shoulders. John had lived his life like a punishment, as if he’d known happiness once and nothing would bring it back. Nothing compared, not even his sons.

Following his Dad’s example, Dean had accepted that their job was hard but necessary. He also grew up to suspect that no one in their right mind would choose a life on the road. Peace and a white picket fence had to be the ideal; everyone around him seemed to think so and it made Dean feel guilty and freakish for all the times he enjoyed the life they led.

For Sam and John both, normal equaled happiness and since the Winchesters never came within spitting distance of the first, the latter was out of the question.

Dean had never realized how far his Dad’s grief had torn him apart, but he felt it now like a crack in his heart and for a moment he was so angry with John he clenched his fists, dug his nails into his palms.

Up on the bed, Sam shook his head and sat up more fully.

“You said you were tired,” Sam reminded him and tried to pull off his over-shirt with the buttons closed. Somehow he wriggled free, dropped the shirt on the floor and stared at Dean with his hair sticking up every which way.

Dean breathed out and uncurled his hands. “Yeah, I was tired of being pushed around like a chess piece,” he agreed. “Of being hauled in and out of hell every other day. Not… ” He trailed off, pressing his lips into a line. He couldn’t explain. Sure, the last three years had been torture and Dean didn’t want to go back to that. But to give up hunting entirely, to scrap everything he was and everyone that mattered to him, just to have a shot at a company car and a pension scheme? That didn’t seem right either.

He realized he couldn’t say any of this to Sam, though, because he’d just be listing things he didn’t want. If he searched his heart, he’d find a wish or two, but he couldn’t admit to these either, because the things Dean longed for didn’t hold a candle to the blazing domestic bliss Sam had in mind.

Dean thought of the easy silences he used to share with Sam, the beers they drank on Bobby’s porch. He looked ahead, and his goals were just as simple. He wanted to teach Cas blackjack and he wanted to drive by Lisa’s place and help her and Ben paint the garage. He hoped for mornings when he would wake up in new places, climbing out of the Impala to watch the sky turn from grey to pale blue over a barren field.

It came to Dean that what they had could be enough, that they didn’t need to chase happiness like a button that had rolled under the counter.

 _You, me, Cas, it could be enough for me_ , Dean thought but he’d feel weird saying that out loud. Also, he didn’t want to pressure Sam. He’d twist it around, thinking it was his job to keep Dean happy and that way waited disaster.

“Dean?” Sam asked, waiting for him to go on.

“Nothing.”

Sam groaned and dropped back to the mattress with a thump. Dean grinned, he couldn’t help it. Sam drunk had no time for tact or polite silences.

“Our luck should change, man,” Sam muttered. “It should balance.”

It was useless; Sam was like a dog with a bone. “Why are you so fixated on this?” Dean asked.

“Because I need to believe we’re not cursed anymore.”

“We’re not cursed.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked softly and he sounded so frigging young, Dean’s heart turned over in his chest. He had a flash of Sam in Stull, standing at the edge of Hell and then dropping, falling backward out of Dean’s reach.

“I know.”

Sam turned his face into his pillow and Dean figured that was it. He pulled off Sam’s second shoe when Sam suddenly rolled over and flung his arm down the side of the bed. Dean expected him to puke on the floor but Sam only rummaged through the pockets of his discarded shirt and dived back up.

“Hey,” he said and held up Dean’s old amulet. “Look what I kept.”

Dean sat frozen, staring at the necklace in Sam’s hand. The hopeful look on Sam’s face said he wanted Dean to take it but for a moment, Dean was terrified to reach out.

For a long time the amulet had symbolized everything Dean cherished about their childhood. Later it had represented the whole weight of his crushed illusions. What could it be to him now? If he closed his hand around the necklace, would he restart the whole circle of dependence, of caring too much and getting too little?

He wished Sam hadn’t sprung it on him like that.

In the end, Dean took the amulet. What other choice did he have, with Sam hunching his shoulders like a puppy that expected to be kicked?

For a moment, it was as Dean had feared: touching the amulet felt like a hot lick over fresh burns. He remembered the day Sam had first given him the talisman and it made him grieve for the boys they’d been. He wished that wound would finally scar over and heal.

Sam watched him take the necklace, then nodded and sank back on the mattress. He shifted around, pulled one corner of the top-sheet over his hip and closed his eyes. Dean sat stupefied, listening as Sam’s breathing first slowed then bubbled out of him in snorts.

Only Sam. Only Sam could pick him apart at the seams and then lie down snoring like a rhino with a head cold.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and watched Sam’s body go slack, the shadow from the window shutter cutting him in half. The amulet’s pointy horns dug into his palm and he ran his thumb over the ridges of the miniature face. Shoving the necklace into his pocket, Dean tugged the top sheet loose from under Sam’s butt and spread it over him.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Dean muttered.

 

: : :

 

After Sam had fallen asleep, Dean detoured to the bathroom, splashing cold water into his face before he joined Cas on the balcony. His back to the room, Cas stood with his hands on the railing. Down below, the city spread like a blanket made of Christmas lights, staining the night sky with an orange glow. Dean moved over to Cas’s side, feeling goosebumps rise on his arms. The nights were still chilly.

“How is Sam?” Cas asked.

“Sleeping the sleep of the really drunk,” Dean replied and leaned on the railing. From up here, he could see the Colosseum and St. Peter’s Basilica. He could also hear the noise of a nightclub pumping up from between buildings and cars rushing by on the main streets.

Dean gripped the railing and hung his head, feeling woozy with drink and Sam’s emotional rollercoaster.

“I swear that kid’s a walking existential crisis,” Dean said and came back up. “I just wish I knew what’s nagging him.”

“He feels lost,” Cas supplied and Dean looked at him, surprised.

“How do you know?”

“We talked.”

“You did,” Dean marveled but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. “About what?”

“Your short attention span, for one,” Cas quipped. “Sam said you’d be more engaged if we visited Italy’s largest meatball.”

“They have that?”

The corner of Cas’s mouth twitched and Dean knew he’d scored. Making Cas smile was always a treat.

When Cas continued, he slowly ran his hand over the railing and peeled off flakes of varnish. “Sam wanted to discuss the principles of redemption.”

“Redemption?” Dean echoed and Cas looked at him sideways.

“He thinks God let him off too easy.”

“Come _on_.” Easy? Dean thought. How did jumping into Hell with Lucifer wrapped around your bones define as easy?

Cas shrugged and flicked varnish off his fingers. “It would be easier for him if he knew he’d come back for a reason.”

Dean turned and leaned his back against the railing. “You’d think being back would be enough,” he grumbled.

“Is that your experience?” Cas asked.

“No,” Dean admitted. He remembered the months after Cas had raised him from Hell, the long stretches of disbelief and guilt, because why should he be saved and not others? Now Sam had to go through the exact same bullshit. Dean understood. He wished he could help but he knew his brother hadn’t found his way home yet. In truth, Dean didn’t know if he’d come home himself, not even after all this time.

“The way I understand it,” Cas continued, “Sam had the burden of fate hanging on him all his life and now that it’s gone, it left a void.”

 _No more reason for revenge_ , Dean thought. No demons, no devils to beat off. Yeah, it might leave a guy at loose ends.

“I think he doesn’t know what his purpose is anymore,” Cas said and Dean looked from Cas’s hands closing around the railing up to his face.

“You can relate, huh?”

“Yes.”

Dean noticed the resignation in Cas’s voice and sympathized. He knew Heaven’s politics frustrated Cas and his reformation didn’t go the way he planned. Angels were stubborn bastards and Cas, who’d licked blood and couldn’t stop questioning, ran his head against brick walls trying to shake them up. Dean remembered one night when Cas had asked him head on, _Why did he bring me back if I can’t change anything?_

Improved or not, Cas floundered just as much as Dean and Sam did. None of them had expected to survive the Apocalypse and now that they had, they didn’t know how to go on.

It came to Dean that they were all looking for directions. He chuckled, realizing how much and how little their problems had changed. Same shit, different pile.

“What?” Cas demanded.

“We’re so damaged,” Dean explained. “We spent all this time raging over the reins they put on us and now that they’re off, we miss them?”

Cas turned to him and his mouth twitched. “It’s human.”

“Yeah? What does that make you?”

“Flawed.”

Dean snorted, dipped his head and ran his hand back through his hair. He looked at Cas almost-smiling at him and something that had curled tight inside Dean eased. Suddenly he wanted to lean in, find out if Cas still smelled like wild lemons.

“There are worse things to be,” Dean said. He reached out to scuff Cas’s shoulder but closed his hand around Cas’s arm instead. He could feel the warmth of Cas’s skin through the folds of his dress shirt.

“I agree,” Cas said. When Dean leaned over, Cas made a pleased sound, like a cat rolling belly-side up on a sunny carpet.

Sam picked that exact same moment to snore so loud he cracked a five on the Richter scale and Dean just burst out laughing. Cas chuckled, too, actually showing some teeth with his grin this time. Dean shook his head, squeezed Cas’s arm and went to go back into the room.

“Are you coming inside?”

“Yes.”

 

: : :

 

The next morning, Dean and Cas stood on the Ponte Sant’Angelo, watching the early morning sun glitter on the river. Dean had two duffels by his feet; the full extent of Winchester luggage. The piece of cypress wood was in his pocket and he kept rubbing off bits of flaky bark.

Sam had told them to meet him on the bridge before he went off on his own. He seemed ashamed about last night but then again, his grey face could just be a side effect of his hangover. When Sam had got up, he didn’t talk, he whispered. Dean had acknowledged his pain and yelled for Cas to come in from the balcony and help pack already.

Up on the bridge, Dean took in the view of riverside Rome, then turned to study the inscription on the nearest angel statue. _Angel with the Sudarium_ , it read. What in heck was a Sudarium? Dean looked at the sandstone angel, the swirling folds of his toga, the curls and fluffed wings. Then he looked at Cas at the statue’s feet, his rumpled trenchcoat and five o’clock shadow. Dean grinned and opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” Cas rumbled without even looking at Dean.

Before Dean could point out that a toga would look good on Cas, he should show a little leg, Sam walked up onto the bridge. He carried a paper tray with three coffees and a bakery bag with a promising bulge.

“Breakfast?” Dean asked hopefully as Sam reached them.

“Yes,” Sam said. “It’s the least I can do.” He looked a little healthier. At least he didn’t retch anymore. Sam gave Dean the paper bag and Cas a cup of coffee.

“Listen, guys,” he began. “I’m sorry about last night. I’ve been in a funk lately.”

“You can say that again,” Dean agreed and pulled a miniature croissant from the bag. It smelled of chocolate. Dean approved.

“So,” Sam ventured, put Dean’s coffee on the bridge’s balustrade and tapped one of the duffels with his shoe. “Where to?”

“I have some ideas,” Cas offered and Sam’s face brightened.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay, that’s fine with me.”

“Dean?” Cas asked.

“Whatever,” Dean said and bit into his croissant. It was filled with a hazelnut-chocolate spread.


	2. 2/2

III

  


london, england  
 _losing your luggage_

  


Europe had perks; think of the Oktoberfest, Finnish saunas, the Monaco Grand Prix. Dean, of course, didn't see any of it. Instead, he followed his brother and their angel taxi on a spree. A sight-seeing, art-hopping geekasmic spree. They saw the Louvre, the Alhambra in Spain, Fisherman’s Bastion in Budapest, the remnants of the Berlin wall, checking off five places and three countries in a day.

On Monday evening, five p.m. Greenwich Mean Time, Dean stood in the Tate gallery, staring up at a gigantic power outlet dangling from the ceiling. It was art, apparently.

“You like that?” Sam asked and Dean swore his grin had a sadistic twist to it.

“Dude,” he warned. “Stop talking.”

“You know there’s a felt drape installation in the next room.”

Dean exhaled, left Sam standing and joined Cas at the far side of the hall. Hands clasped behind his back, Cas stood looking at a blue canvas so big it dwarfed him. The Tate had been his idea. Along with the Dalí exhibit in Figueres, the _Gruene Gewoelbe_ in Dresden and the Hunterian museum.

Dean stared at the blue canvas and tried to catch the vibe. So. It was big. And blue. Maybe Cas saw something different because his face was all serious and thoughtful.

“I didn’t know you were such an art groupie,” Dean grumbled.

“I’m not.”

Surprised, Dean turned to him. If Cas didn’t dig this crap then why… “You’re doing this for Sam,” Dean stated.

“It seems to help him,” Cas agreed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and looked over at Sam.

Dean followed his gaze and saw Sam earmarking pages in his art guide. He licked at his thumb before he flipped through the book and the gesture reminded Dean of Sam at twelve, when he was so damn curious he wanted to know everything. Wherever they went, Sam had bee-lined it to the library and he kept explaining things. _Did you know that_ _migrant birds can fly_ _6835 miles_ _non-stop_ _? Did you know that it takes Mars two years to orbit the sun? Did you know that… ?_

Dean chuckled. He realized Cas had it right, the trip was good for Sam. He knew Sam believed the last years had changed him so much he’d never be at ease in his own skin again. Sometimes Dean feared the same. But with every day in Europe, Sam seemed to breathe easier. Maybe it was the distance from their old routines that did the trick.

Realizing Dean and Cas were both looking at him, Sam strolled over to join them.

“You ready to go?” Sam asked.

“No, let’s stay a while,” Dean said. “We didn’t see the butter-knife wrapped in cellophane. I hear it’s something else.”

“Shut up,” Sam said amiably and shoved the art guide into his back pocket. “There’s a tea-room on the ground floor. We can stop by on our way out.”

“Tea,” Dean echoed and Sam beamed.

“Yeah, tea,” he said. “We’re in England. Come on!”

“Did you know that tea came to England as early as 1560?” Cas asked and Sam’s eyes frigging sparkled.

“Really?”

“All right, that’s it,” Dean barked, grabbed Sam’s arm and propelled him out of the exhibition room. “You guys go on like an episode from _Sesame Street_.”

Sam laughed and Dean whacked him on the shoulder. Dean didn’t doubt that Sam shamelessly enjoyed himself and he sent a silent thank-you to whoever might be listening.

It looked like Sam had scraped off layers of self-doubt and found someone he still liked underneath.

  


: : :

  


 _antwerp_   
_, belgium_

  


They got into trouble in Belgium when they visited the Antwerp zoo. Cas hated to see God’s creations behind bars so he started freeing all the tropical birds and bespectacled bears, zapping away locks and glass panes. Grandpas fainted, kids squealed. The animals marched two by two into the zoo’s restaurant. The buffet didn’t survive, people trampled out of the zoo in a stampede: One tourist tripped over a python, another made a spectacular dive into the empty hippo pool, trying to escape a Wapiti.

It was Cas’s first and last zoo.

: : :

  


 _champ de mars, paris, france_

  


One night, at the onset of the second week, Sam and Dean sat on the top platform of the Eiffel Tower, dangling their legs between the bars of the railing and sharing a bag of roast chicken-flavored potato chips. Dean had wanted Freedom Fries, Sam had laughed and Cas didn’t get the joke.

Once Cas had zapped them to the top platform of the Eiffel Tower, he’d wandered off to look at the tower’s lattice work. He said he disliked the smell of the chips.

Shoving his hand through the bars, Sam dropped a piece of potato chip and watched it plummet into the void.

“Cas and I have been sleeping together,” Dean announced, the words slipping out before he knew he would say them.

Sam sat frozen and stared after the tumbling potato chip. When it was gone, Sam slowly raised his head. “Come again?”

“You heard me,” Dean said and groped for more chips inside the bag. Sam gaped.

“What, you mean, like… _sleeping_ together? Full frontal?”

“You want me to draw you a picture?”

“God, no,” Sam blurted, then shook his head. “Wow.”

“What?” Dean asked, hesitating with his hand inside the bag of chips.

Sam frowned and turned his gaze back at the city’s nightscape. “I’m disappointed I guess.”

Dean tensed, crushing potato chips in his fist. Sam didn’t elaborate and the silence that stretched between them poured like hot lead into Dean’s chest. It had never occurred to him that Sam might have a problem with this.

Beside him, Sam tilted back his head and sighed. “I thought Cas had better taste,” he explained and then grinned so hard his cheeks dimpled.

Dean let out a breath and pulled his hand out of the bag. “Jackass,” he muttered, threw the chips’ crumbs into the air and wiped his palm on his jeans.

Sam chuckled and leaned back on his hands. “You should have seen your face just there.” He pulled up one foot and braced it against the edge of the platform. Dean kept munching potato chips, watching the water fountains spout away down in the park. The light that haloed the water turned slowly from blue to green.

“You could have told me sooner, you know,” Sam said.

“It’s no big deal.”

Sam shot him another look and raised his brows.

“It’s not,” Dean insisted. “’Sides, there’s nothing to tell. We’re not… we didn’t do that for a while.”

And, of course, only Sam could ask, “Why not?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Sam.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who went all Eyes Wide Shut here.”

“Alright,” Dean snapped. “It just didn’t come up is all.” The second he realized what he’d said, he mentally smacked himself. Sam opened his mouth but Dean cut him short. “Don’t.”

As Sam sniggered away, Dean remembered how he and Cas got started. Sam didn’t ask about it and that was just as well because there was sharing, and then there was _sharing_.

If Dean thought back, parts of his history with Cas were a lot harder to confess to than the sex.

The first time they crossed the line had been after Joshua told them God couldn’t care less. Three days after Sam and Dean returned from Heaven, Dean came home late to the motel room he shared with Sam and found Cas slumped in the room’s only chair, moonlight pooling at his feet. Sam had been sleeping so Dean had grabbed Cas by the lapels of his coat and pulled him into the bathroom, telling him stupid stuff like _don’t give up_ and _stick with us, stick with me. How they went from that to jerking each other off Dean didn’t know but he remembered pressing a hand over Cas’s mouth to keep him from crying out. He also remembered pressing his face into the curve of Cas’s neck and Cas holding him so damn tight he had trouble breathing._

It had seemed to be a one time thing until the night Dean woke up in Lisa’s guestroom, a scream jammed in his throat and Cas sitting on the edge of his bed. That night, Cas had wrapped around him, chest to back, and stayed. He had just stayed.

After that Cas came by frequently; sometimes for sex but more often for company and he got Dean through the nights until he could sleep again without dreaming.

That had been a weird time.

Dean smiled. He’d wrecked his brain looking for a way to tell Lisa. Then one morning he came into the kitchen and found both Lisa and Cas sitting at the breakfast table. Eating toast.

 _So. Were you going to introduce us?_

From then on, whenever Cas showed up, Lisa told him he was on Dean-duty. Between them, they held him up and made it possible for him to breathe.

Not that he made it easy for them.

Dean remembered one night in late November and his smile slipped. He’d gone out chasing after a lead, some witch that had walked the road to hellfire and came back with a map. Turned out the witch was some kind of fire demon. She lured him into her home and then burned down the roof over his head. Dean got reckless, searched cupboards and drawers even as the ceilings crashed down around him.

Cas found him – Dean didn’t know how, he still had the sigils on his ribs. But yeah, Cas found him. Pulled Dean from the fire kicking and screaming because Dean needed that map, he needed it more than his life. Cas yelled at Dean, healed his burned face and perched on the passenger’s seat all the way back to Cicero. Dean didn’t say a word, not to Cas, not to Lisa when they came home.

Some days even they didn’t reach him.

Up on the tower’s platform, Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth, smelled the spicy chicken flavor and winced. Cas was right, it did smell god awful.

“Lisa knows, I assume,” Sam said.

“’Course she does,” Dean agreed, then grinned, remembering. “She and Cas used to drink coffee together. Made me nervous as hell.”

“I can’t see why.”

Sam reached over and took the chips from Dean’s hands. Dean leaned his head against the railing and peered down at the ring of footlights that surrounded the tower.

“So,” Sam said. “You and Cas.”

Dean clenched his jaw and resolved to keep his mouth shut next time. “Can you handle it?” he asked, putting it out there like a challenge.

“Yeah,” Sam shot back. “Can you?”

Dean opened his mouth and found he had no answer. Handle what, he wondered. The sex? The implications? Man, he wished he had a drink right now. Navigating talks like these was so much easier when he had some kind of high proof drink to hold on to. “Look, can we skip the soul search?”

Sam shrugged and shook the last potato crumbs into his palm. “Fine.”

“No more big topics,” Dean added, happy that he’d got off easy for once. “We’re on a holiday, right?”

Sam huffed. “Damn straight.”

“Funny.”

They sat for a while until another question seemed to pop into Sam’s head.

“Hey Dean,” he asked. “Are you full of grace now?”

  


: : :

  


 _moustiers ste marie, france_

  


After Paris, things slowed down some and they stayed three actual days in a small town in the French Alps. The place was famous for its pottery trade and a curious left-over from crusade history: a gold star swinging on an iron chain between two cliffs high above town. According to local legend, the star was hung by a knight who’d promised God an offering if he let him return from the crusades in one piece. No one knew how they got the first chain suspended between the cliffs and for once, even Cas didn’t have any answers.

Dean actually liked the star. If he looked up from the village, he didn’t see the chain, just the star reflecting sunlight. It looked like a flare of white suspended before the blue sky.

Dean, Sam and Cas put up at a five-room hotel and got the same breakfast table in the courtyard every morning. They’d arrived in Moustiers early enough to miss the full midspring tourism and the town was blissfully quiet.

If anyone had ever told Dean he’d spend his days strolling along cobbled stone alleys, stooping to pluck lavender and rub the blossoms between his fingers – he’d have called that person crazy. Or exorcised them, maybe.

Truth was, the laid-back village spoke to him in ways that all the high gloss galleries and tourist magnets hadn’t.

Cas and Sam seemed affected by a similar mood. Together they climbed the zig-zagging stairs to the pilgrim’s church just for the view, ate smoked trout and bought souvenirs for Ben and Lisa in a shop that sold produce from a close-by monastery. Dean bought a jar of lavender-scented bath salts (made by some seriously kinky monks, Dean didn’t doubt). Sam contributed a glazed coffee mug and Cas picked out a small booklet of Ovid verse for Ben. Back in Cicero, Cas had taught Ben some Latin warding spells and from what Dean heard, Ben had used his new dead language skills to flip off his history teacher, a guy who had Ben pegged because of his leather jacket.

Moustiers settled into a notch at the base of a limestone gorge, promising ‘exceptional views of sublime beauty’. In the evening, the alleys and stone-houses glowed pink with the sunset reflecting off the town’s red tile roofs. It was postcard material all right.

On their third morning, Dean slacked out at their breakfast table, sanding the piece of Italian cypress wood. With every stroke of the fine-grained paper, the wood morphed further into an oval shape. At the far side of the courtyard, the hotel owner taught Sam how to play backgammon.

Cas remained at the table with Dean. He sat with his face tilted skyward, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands in his pockets. A huge olive tree shadowed the courtyard and the points of sunlight that filtered through its foliage danced on Cas’s face. He’d got rid of his tie and Dean could see the hollow of his throat under his open collar. Thinking about undoing another button on Cas’s shirt, Dean felt a flare of heat spread in his chest. He shifted on his chair, but couldn’t take his eyes away from Cas’s loose-limbed sprawl.

The only time Dean had ever seen Cas this relaxed had been in the back of Dean’s pick-up, the night before Dean left Cicero with Sam. Dean had driven them out to the edge of the suburb where they could look at the empty plots: squares of muddy earth, criss-crossed with tape to mark the next house-construction. Not the most impressive venue but then they didn’t go there for the view.

Making out in the back of a pick-up wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Dean had bumped his head on the wheel case, Cas had torn his sleeve on a nail but afterwards they’d stayed under the blanket and watched the sun come up over their heads and that had been … different.

In retrospect, Dean wondered if Cas had interpreted this as a sort of good-bye. He never came really close to Dean after that. But then, Dean hadn’t suggested anything either.

Dean wondered now, why not.

Watching Cas unwind, the sight of his shirt-tails hanging loose… something about that went right under Dean’s skin. The warmth in his chest traveled all the way down to his crotch and Dean stopped one inch short from reaching down to squeeze his dick.

He realized he’d stopped sandpapering.

“I like it here,” Cas announced, eyes closed and tilting his knees a little farther apart.

“I can see that,” Dean said and swallowed. Cas must’ve picked up something in his voice because he slowly tipped his head down and opened his eyes.

Dean’s thoughts had to be written all over his face but Cas didn’t react. If he’d shown any sign of interest, if he’d flushed, maybe, Dean didn’t know what he would’ve done. Grabbed Cas and pulled him right onto his lap, maybe.

Dean clenched his hand around the cypress wood, the sandpaper’s grain biting into his palm. For a second, he almost jumped out off his chair. He wanted to kiss Cas so bad, see if he couldn’t shake that calm from his face a little.

Back at the backgammon table, the hotel owner – a fifty-something, grizzly looking cook-by-trade - exclaimed over some move Sam made and threw his arms in the air. Dean turned to look at them and caught Sam gesturing back, wildly pointing his hands at the game.

Dean grinned and most of the tension that had been building in his chest (and his crotch) ebbed away. A cool breeze riffled through the olive tree and chilled the nape of his neck. Dean chuckled. Yeah, he got the message. Wrong time, wrong place. But, damn, he needed to get laid. Why did he wait this long?

“You want to go up and see the star today?” he asked Cas.

Cas smoothed his napkin on the table and watched a couple of sparrows advancing on the table. “Why not?”

“Did you know that Sam wanted to be a Templar when he was a kid?” Dean said.

Cas brushed a few crumbs off the table and the sparrows hopped closer. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “Right up until he’d read about the crusades. After that, he wanted to join a hippie commune.”

“I take it that didn’t work out.”

“No. But it explains the hair.”

  


: : :

  


Dean cut the cypress wood into a square then started sanding off the edges and points. The paper made a soft, swishing sound as he stroked it over the wood’s seamed surface. He followed the paper’s trail with the pad of his thumb, feeling the curve of the grain.

Once he’d carved the wood into a blunt, river-stone shape he polished it with olive oil. He used folded paper towels to rub the oil into the grain, working the wood with small, even circles. The rhythm calmed him, traveled up his arm and smoothed the tension from his shoulders. Before long his hands were shiny with oil and the earthy smell of cypress hung all about him.

He was aware of Cas watching him, Cas’s gaze hanging on the slow movements of Dean’s hands.

  


  


IV

  


corfu, greece  
 _original harmony_

  


Mediterranean sunsets took a long time. When Dean walked out of the sea and onto the beach, the sun inched toward the horizon and the sky blazed pale yellow and salmon pink. In this bay, pebbles covered most of the shore and the smooth stones pressed warm against his bare feet. Dean picked up his towel, dried his legs and arms, changed into dry boxer-shorts and stepped into a pair of green flip-flops. He looked at the rubber thong between his toes and grimaced. Good thing he had a healthy ego. Dean slung the towel over his shoulder, shot another look at the wide-spreading ocean and started back to their house.

They had been on Corfu for four days now, settling down close to the village where Cas used to enjoy his coffee. Instead of looking up another hotel, Sam scouted for an empty summer bungalow where they could squat for the time of their stay. He came up with a remote place on a hill above the bay, a white-washed, one-storey house surrounded by olive trees. From the back of the house, a narrow path led down to the sea.

As Dean walked uphill on the beaten track, his flip-flops squeaked with every step. He passed into the shadow of the olive grove and a host of cicadas chirped up all around him. The old leaves that covered the ground were baked dry, but the trees bristled with new, green shoots.

At this point, Dean had figured out what he’d smelled on Cas back in Monarch: Wild thyme grew on the island like weed and the subtle, lemony scent filled the air almost everywhere.

A drop of water ran from the fringe of Dean’s hair down his nose and he wiped it away with his thumb. When he looked ahead, he could see the white wall of their terrace flash between the trees.

  


: : :

  


In the supermarket where Dean got his flip-flops, Sam had bought a disposable camera. That afternoon, he’d gone off on a hiking trail along the cliffs, looking for snapshots. Cas had stayed in and when Dean walked up the steps to the house, he found Cas sitting on the terrace.

Cas didn’t bother with a chair, instead he sat on the ground with his back against the wall. He had a book on his knees, most likely some page-turner he took from the house. The bungalow had a library in the form of a bookcase filled with paperbacks. People who stayed here seemed in the habit of leaving their summer reads behind and who could blame them. On his brief survey, Dean had seen no less than six Maeve Binchy novels on the shelf.

Dean resolved to buy Cas something different to read before he bought an Italian dictionary and vanished into an ashram. Cas' feet, Dean noted, were bare.

“Sam back yet?” Dean asked but Cas didn’t answer, his face a mask of concentration. Dean rolled his eyes and walked past Cas into the house.

When he crossed the sitting-room, his flip-flops slapped on the floor tiles so loud, he toed them off and kicked them to the side of the room. Back home he would not have been caught dead in sandals, but the alternative would be to trudge to the beach in shorts and work boots and that would be even more embarrassing.

Sam made fun of him for his new-developed passion for swimming but Dean didn’t care. He’d never swum in the sea before, only lakes and swimming pools. It made all the difference.

Over in the kitchen, Dean crouched down and opened the fridge. Sam had taken out the bottom shelves to make room for a satellite-sized melon and Dean had stored their beer on the top. Dean grabbed a bottle and moved over to the counter. He rummaged through the grocery bags Sam left there until he came up with a box of cheese crackers. Another bonus of swimming was the ravenous hunger afterwards. After a few laps, everything tasted awesome.

Dean turned to lean against the counter and savored the first swallow of iced beer. From the kitchen, he could see clean across the living room and he caught a glimpse of Cas’s leg and bare foot in the open doorway. After a moment’s consideration, Dean got another beer from the fridge and returned to the patio.

When he came outside, Cas had stopped reading and held the open book in his lap.

“Thirsty?” Dean asked and held out a bottle of Mythos.

Cas closed the book, reached up and took the beer.

“This is a strange story,” he remarked.

“That’s one way to put it,” Dean said, taking one look at the Pilcheresque cover. He pulled off the bottle’s cap and settled down at the terrace’s table. That morning, they had moved the furniture to the terrace-wall so they could look at the bay. If Dean peered down between the trees, he could see a glimpse of the sea at the foot of the hill. Up over their heads, the sky was slowly darkening to a deep shade of blue.

Cas joined him, took the other chair and carefully put his feet on the low wall. Every day, he seemed to test new ways of slowing down like others would sample foreign food. Dean had noticed for a while that even though Cas wasn’t halfway-to-human anymore, he still appreciated the perks of human past-times. It also didn’t escape Dean that Cas seemed in no hurry to return to Heaven.

Pulling his chair closer to the table, Dean put down his beer and the box of crackers. He’d worked on his chunk of wood earlier and left it to dry on the table. Dean shoved the bottle of olive oil aside and reached for what he called his shop course assignment. Under his fingers, the bit of cypress branch had morphed into a round pebble no bigger than a pigeon’s egg.

When Dean picked up the wood, he saw that the oil had brought out the grain. He liked the natural swirls, the hair-fine lines running along the wood’s curve. The oil had also given the wood a silky feel; it was smooth to the touch now, like a chestnut with a finely textured surface.

“Is it finished?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean said, weighed the wood in his hands, then tossed it to Cas. Cas caught it easily and cupped it in his palm. He held it up, ran his fingertip over the wood’s curve like he would stroke the back of a bird.

“It feels nice,” Cas said and made as if to give it back.

“Nah,” Dean said. “You keep it.”

Cas raised his eyebrows in surprise, hesitated and closed his hand around the wood. “Thank you.”

Dean shrugged and emptied his beer. He had no use for the wood now; modeling it had been the pleasing part. Still, he’d lie if he said that was the reason why he passed it on. Dean had seen Cas handle the smoothed wood as if it were something precious and he wanted him to have it. He couldn’t even say why.

Dean pulled at his beer and watched Cas tuck the gift into the breast pocket of his shirt. Suddenly Dean’s mouth seemed full with words and he had to bite down on the confessions that threatened to spill. He wanted to thank Cas for staying with him back in Cicero and tell him how much it mattered. Dean never allowed himself to think about it, but for a long time now Cas had been the one thing he was sure of. He was the one person Dean could let go away easily, because he knew Cas would come back. He just _knew_.

Dean didn’t have to call (or pray) or explain why he wanted Cas around. He didn’t have to justify himself. Cas just fit into the space next to him and he didn’t make a fuss about it.

As much as Dean felt tickled by Cas’s composure, as much as he wanted to mess with him, Dean actually liked his calm. He enjoyed being quiet with him.

Besides, he’d seen Cas ragged and wild, no holds barred, and Dean had liked that, too.

Propping his own legs on the wall, Dean took another swallow of the Mythos beer and smiled. If he told Cas any of this, Cas would listen, maybe nod. He would also wonder why Dean got worked up over something like that. It could have made things difficult but in the end, it really, really didn’t.

At the far side of the table, Cas reached for the box of Ritz Bits. He pulled out a cracker, sniffed it and put it in his mouth.

“That any better than the chicken chips?” Dean wanted to know.

“No,” Cas said and swallowed.

Dean couldn’t argue with that. “Some day we have to get you some real food.”

“I can’t wait.”

Dean chuckled and scratched his shoulder. Every stretch of his skin was coated in sea salt and his back started to itch. He needed to clean up but for the moment he wanted to sit a little longer, finish his beer, watch the stars come out.

  


: : :

  


One shower later, Dean toweled off his hair and looked in the bathroom mirror. He’d been out in the sun the whole three days and still he didn’t tan. His face was full of freckles, though. So were his shoulders.

At least he didn’t get sunburn.

Throwing the towel over the shower-door, Dean put on some sweatpants and padded bare-chested out into the sitting-room. The sun had set for good by then and the room was dark but Dean kept the lights switched off to discourage the gnats. In the open window, Dean could see a flickering, orange glow spreading over the terrace. He was halfway to the bedroom when he heard Cas and Sam talking outside.

“Can I do this?” Cas was asking and when Dean came closer to the doorway, he could see the two of them huddled over the table. They had lit a little oil lamp just like they’d seen them do it in the taverns downtown. The light of the lamp spilled over the table and illuminated a backgammon board.

“No, no,” Sam said. “You got to take that one along. Yeah. That’s a good move, actually.”

Standing in the shadow of the sitting-room, Dean took a minute to look at the two of them. Sam had a plate of melon slices next to him, most of the rinds already picked clean. Cas concentrated on the board but he held something in his hand, absently rolling the thing back and forth in his palm. Dean realized it was the piece of wood and Sam seemed to notice it, too.

“What’s that?” Sam asked and Cas handed over the keepsake.

“Dean gave it to me.”

“Huh,” Sam said. “I forgot.” He held up the cypress wood and Dean could see his face light up with a smile. “Dean used to make lots of these when we were kids. He could carve anything.” He balanced the wood on two fingertips, testing its balance, and flashed a grin. “He made me a dinosaur once.”

“A dinosaur?” Cas asked and Sam shrugged.

“It was a phase.” He gave the wood back to Cas and reached for another slice of melon.

“Do you still have it?” Cas wanted to know.

“No,” Sam said. “One winter we had to split fast and I left my toys behind at the motel.”

Cas said nothing to that and Dean stepped away from the door, melting back into the shadows.

Walking into the bedroom, he pressed his lips into a hard line. He lugged his bag onto the bed, pulled out a t-shirt but couldn’t put it on. After another second, he pulled out the pendant as well. Dean weighed the amulet in his palm, closed his fist around it and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

He could feel the earth of the cemetery under his knees again, the seamless flat of grass under his hands. No trace of the hole that had swallowed his brother. He flashed back to that moment and how he’d thought, this is it. The day he’d always expected, the moment Sam would go and not come back, the final conclusion of all the times Sam had struggled to cut loose.

It had been such a worthless, selfish reaction and Dean had tried to forget what he’d felt but he never could. Not even after Sam returned, not even after they went back on the road. Dean carried his hurt like a bitter taste in his mouth. He loved his brother, but part of him had not forgiven Sam for leaving him behind and Dean felt ashamed because of it.

He couldn’t get over it and he couldn’t silence his own bad conscience because all the escapes Sam had pulled, were they any worse than Dean holding on to Sam so tight he didn’t allow him any space to breathe, or grow, or die even?

That wasn’t who he wanted to be. He’d been too hard on Sam, asked too much of him. At the same time, Sam had cut him in ways Dean had never thought possible. He saw now how they’d taken so many issues out on each other because there was no-one else close enough to reach.

Dean didn’t want to look back at the last few years because he feared that all he would see was a relationship corroded by guilt and shame. They’d become so tangled, he couldn’t think of Sam or himself as anything but messed up. If he started, Dean was afraid he’d never stop blaming and resenting Sam for leaving, and himself, for not trusting Sam enough to let him go.

Part of him wanted to throw away the amulet for good this time, make a clean cut before they could slide into the same old patters. Then Dean remembered Sam’s smile, the way he’d talked about his memories, good memories, by the sound of them.

Dean closed his eyes. He’d been an ass. Did he really think that the last three years summed up who they were? Through all their childhood years being brothers had been a relief and it had continued to be so and would still be so tomorrow. Dean realized, then, that the rest was just baggage and he could shed it, if he wanted to.

Time for a fresh start.

Dean put on his t-shirt and slipped the necklace over his head. The pendant settled against his chest and Dean felt like something inside him finally clicked into place.

  


: : :

  


The next morning, Dean woke early and blinked into the predawn light. He’d slept with the window open and the fresh air that rolled in from the bay filled the room floor to ceiling. Even in bed, Dean could smell the sea. Waking up early didn’t bother him here; he liked getting in a few laps before breakfast.

Dean rolled out of bed, threw on yesterday’s t-shirt and tip-toed into the sitting-room. Cas was nowhere to be seen but Sam still slept on the couch: He’d lost the bed to Dean at last night’s coin flip (It had to be coins because Dean refused to go rock paper scissors).

When Dean passed by the couch, Sam turned and muttered something, pulling the blanket over his face. Dean smirked and headed for the bathroom. He took a piss, grabbed a dry towel and padded back across the sitting room.

He was outside the house and across the terrace inside five minutes.

  


: : :

  


Dean trotted downhill through the grove, short grass scratching at his ankles on the last narrow stretch of the track. He came out on the beach, flip-flops slipping on the pebbles, and cursed under his breath. He kicked the shoes off and winced as the edges of the stones dug into the soles of his feet. Dean looked up, the bay opening like a window before him, and his heart kicked against his chest in anticipation. He was almost at the water’s edge when something caught his eye.

Dean turned and to his surprise saw Cas standing some ways off, facing the sea. Cas noticed him too and came Dean’s way, walking the silty fringe where the waves lapped against the pebbled shore. The early morning breeze ruffled his short hair and pulled at his shirt. Cas had rolled his pants halfway up his calves and his shoes seemed to be gone for good.

“Good morning,” Cas said, with emphasis and a smile. Dean laughed, surprised by the good mood that sat in his chest like a ball of sunshine. Maybe it was all the fresh air: no pavement smells, no car exhausts, no reeking corpses rotting under the floorboards. Just the sea, the wild herbs on the bank and the salt on the wind.

Dean inhaled, rolled his shoulders and took in the ocean view. Clouds stretched like watercolor smudges on the horizon and a spreading, rosy glow climbed the sky. They saw a phalanx of seagulls, flying west across the bay.

“It’s something, huh?” Dean asked, looking at a green island that rose like a turtle’s back outside the bay.

“Fair as on the primal day,” Cas agreed and Dean shook his head.

“Dude, you read too much purple prose.”

He pulled off his t-shirt and shivered as the sea-breeze hit his skin. He wanted to go in fast, warm his muscles and see how far he could go.

The ocean sloshed loudly, rushing over the stones and whispering as it drew back. Dean balanced over the pebbles until he reached the slanting line of sand. Sea-foam swirled over his feet and ankles, pulling the silt away under his toes. When he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Cas staring after him. He seemed almost frozen to the spot.

“You want to come along?” Dean asked.

“I don’t swim,” Cas said, his voice strangely strained.

“Scared to wet your wings?” Dean teased, turned and waded further into the waves. When he was in up to his chest, he pushed off in a shallow dive, doing his first strokes underwater. He was already gathering speed when he broke the surface, cutting through the waves with long, streamlined crawls. It felt like flying.

When he’d swum a good ways out, Dean stopped, treaded water and turned, searching the shore for Cas. There was no trace of him, though.

 _Suit yourself_ , Dean thought and stroked out toward the open sea.

  


: : :

  


When Dean came back from the shore, Cas waited for him on the terrace. He sat on the wall, watching as Dean climbed the stairs to the house. No book this time, he just… watched.

The second Dean saw Cas’s face, he knew something was up. Hands clutching his knees, brows pulled down, Cas glared at Dean, or maybe he just frowned, it was hard to tell. Dean slowed down, reached the top of the stairs and saw that the table on the terrace was empty, no breakfast, no sign of Sam. Dean turned for Cas, who still stared at him with that unnerving intensity.

“You could have got the coffee maker go… ” Dean began but before he could finish, a rush of air blasted past him and suddenly he stood inside the house. Dean had time to stumble over the stair that was no longer there, then Cas backed him into the wall, crowding in so close he almost stepped on Dean’s feet.

“What the hell?” Dean croaked but again choked on the rest because Cas shoved his thigh between Dean’s legs and the higher functions in Dean’s brain popped like a fuse.

One hand cupping the side of Dean’s face, Cas pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, licking at the sea-salt in his stubble. Dean breathed deep, his hands settling on Cas’s hips, clutching his shirt.

“You took your time,” Cas said, teeth skimming over the tendons in Dean’s neck.

Sliding his eyes shut, Dean remembered Cas staring after him on the beach and felt like an idiot. “Hell, you could have _said_ something.”

Cas huffed and pulled at the necklace that showed above Dean’s collar. “And they say I’m clueless.”

“Point taken,” Dean muttered.

As Cas kissed the corner of his eye, Dean reached for Cas’s face, rubbed his thumb over Cas’s temple, then fisted his hand into Cas’s short hair. Cas moaned against Dean’s cheek and stopped moving so Dean turned and caught Cas’s lower-lip gently between his teeth. Cas opened his mouth for him but they took it slow, relearning each others’ rhythms.

Dean got lost in the taste and feel of the kiss, Cas’s mouth wide and warm, brushing over his, reminding Dean just how good they felt together.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, voice catching in his throat.

“He’s taking a walk.”

“Huh.”

Forehead resting against Cas’s, Dean pushed up Cas’s shirt and ran his hands over Cas’s sun-warm back, his sides, his chest. Cas breathed against Dean’s mouth, small, hectic puffs of air and all the times Dean had thought nothing would shake Cas’s composure, maybe he just hadn’t looked hard enough.

Cas’s thigh was a constant pressure against his cock and Dean felt like he could get off like this, rocking against Cas’s leg, giving in to the slow drag and pull, his muscles pliant and sore from the long swim. Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist to keep him in place and that was a turn-on beyond words.

The way Cas moved against him, his body brushing Dean’s in all the right places, Dean became hyper-aware of the clothes on his own skin. He hadn’t bothered to change so his shorts were still wet and his t-shirt was gross, soaked with yesterday’s sweat and sun-lotion. Not what he’d call bedroom material but Cas didn’t seem to care and Dean wouldn’t slow him down.

When Cas started tugging at his clothes Dean helped, pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it at their feet. He wanted to take off his shorts, too, but Cas was quicker, his hand slipping under the waistband of Dean’s shorts and settling on the curve of his ass.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathed and shifted them off the wall right into the light that spilled in through the window.

Cas dipped his head, nipped Dean’s shoulder and brushed his nose over the places he’d bitten, his breath ghosting across Dean’s damp skin. It took Dean a second or two to realize Cas was nuzzling the freckles on his shoulders.

“Kinky bastard,” Dean muttered and Cas’s hand tightened on his ass. Cursing, Dean pulled Cas in for another kiss and God, yeah, he’d missed this. He hadn’t even realized how much.

Licking his way into Cas’s mouth, Dean reached down to undo the button and fly of Cas’s slacks. The way Cas kneaded his butt, Dean had trouble concentrating, but he did notice that Cas fumbled for something on the windowsill with his free hand. Craning his head, Dean saw Cas struggle with a familiar bottle of olive oil. He popped the lid one-handed, knocked the bottle over and caught it by the neck, not without spilling some oil over his hand.

“Cas?” Dean asked and stopped working on Cas’s pants.

Cas frowned at the mess he’d made, then shrugged. “Sam said this would work.”

Dean closed his eyes and felt his face flush all the way to his ears. He really didn’t want to picture that conversation. “I’m doomed,” he muttered and continued to pull down Cas’s fly.

“Is that a bad thing?” Cas asked, low and amused, tracing the curve of Dean’s mouth with two oil-slicked fingers.

“Not really,” Dean admitted and touched his tongue against Cas’s fingertips. He could hear Cas’s breath hitch as he sucked at Cas’s fingers, tasting bitter oil and the salt on Cas’s skin. His own pulse was triple-timing it by now.

Sex had always been rush-of-the-moment with Cas: one minute they’d stand close, the next they’d be tearing off clothes, buttons popping, the whole nine yards. Outside the bedroom, Dean had it pretty much under control but once they got started, he couldn’t stop, flying from one touch to the next, finding so easily what felt good.

And that was it, Dean realized. Being with Cas, he felt good. Even when they’d staved off hell and grief and disappointment, there’d always been this underlying sense of reassurance. Dean had smoothed his hands over Cas’s back, traced the jut of Cas’s shoulder-blades and the lean muscles in his arms and the touch had grounded him. From the way Cas used to run his hand up Dean’s leg or rub circles in the skin above his waistband, Dean assumed Cas knew him, relied on him in the same way.

They’d been in it together from the start. On some level, this was just one long extension of their escaping the Green Room, torching heaven’s script and going their own way.

Dean looked at Cas, whose fingertips still rested against his lips. The sun was bright on Cas’s face, smoothing over the worry-lines and it made him look different. Carefree, somehow. It came to Dean that they’d never done this, never in the full light of day. Never without the weight of despair waiting to be picked up in the morning.

Without thinking, Dean kissed Cas’s fingertips and watched Cas’s eyes widen. He looked almost startled, the tenderness taking him by surprise. Dean felt his heart lurch in his chest, guts tightening with emotions he didn’t want to name yet.

Trying not to be awkward, Dean reached down and palmed Cas’s hard-on through his boxers. The surprise melted from Cas’s face, his eyes losing their focus. His hand slid down the side of Dean’s throat, leaving a trail of oil. “Dean… ”

“Make it good, hm?” Dean murmured, lowering his voice to a growl. As he’d hoped, Cas grinned, laugh-lines crinkling and, yeah. Score.

  


: : :

  


The morning commenced with Cas buried balls-deep in Dean’s ass, rocking them, rocking the bed around them, too, with the bed’s metal legs scraping on the tiles.

Cas’s rhythm was off but even that was good, it was awesome, it was fucking everything. Dean stretched back an arm to brace himself against the headboard and helped the best he could. He slung his leg up against Cas’s shoulder and made himself give it up because there really was no boundary he wanted to keep between them. A fuzzy, static buzz kept building at the base of his spine, making his muscles hum like telephone wires. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

He bucked his hips to meet Cas thrusts, trying to speed him up, but Cas kept to these slow, deep strokes that drove Dean crazy. Cas didn’t even look, he moved with his head bowed and his eyes screwed shut.

Dean moaned, arched his back and fumbled for a fold of sheet he could grab in his fist. He stared at Cas’s face, the way he seemed so completely absorbed, his lips pressed into a line, opening to gasp for air and Dean didn’t want to miss a second of this.

He needed Cas to see him, too, to be there with him all the way but he knew he’d never have that. Cas always closed his eyes at the end, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold in his grace. It was a damn shame because right now Dean didn’t care if Cas smoked him to a cinder. He reached up, stroked his thumb along Cas’s cheekbone and Cas squeezed his eyes shut tighter. His hips stuttered, snapped forward in a hard push and Dean cursed, threw his head back. He curled his hand over his own cock, convinced he’d fall to pieces, he’d just crash and scatter apart.

Cas hooked his arm under Dean’s knee and picked up his pace, fingers digging into Dean’s thigh. Three more thrusts and he was gone, body freezing, mouth parting in a choked groan.

Chest heaving, Cas fell forward and braced his hands on the mattress. Dean let go of the headboard to grab Cas’s shoulder, his thumb digging into Cas’s collarbone. While Cas rolled his hips to ride out the aftershocks, Dean hooked his legs over Cas’s waist and jerked himself off, fist thumping between them. His body tensed, clenched around Cas and Cas made this sharp ‘ah’ noise which went straight to Dean’s cock.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, pulled Cas closer with his legs, toppling him off balance. Startled, Cas opened his eyes just a crack, a sliver of bright blue light showing between his lashes and that set off the fireworks, white lights exploding on all Dean’s nerve-ends.

Legs slipping off Cas’s hips, Dean dropped back to the mattress. Pleasure rolled through him, taking all the weight out of his body until he felt so light he might have been back in the sea. For a while, he just floated.

Cas had sunk down with him, breathing against Dean’s chest, his hair tickling Dean’s chin. Dean opened his eyes when he felt Cas move off him. Kneeling between Dean’s legs, Cas looked like he didn’t quite know where to go, so Dean placed a hand against his ribs.

“Right here is good,” Dean said, voice hoarse, and Cas relaxed. Moving over on his side, he sank into the narrow space between Dean and the wall. The bed really wasn’t meant for two.

Cas hesitated, then set his palm on the inside of Dean’s thigh, stroking lightly with his fingertips. Dean could feel his own heart thunder away in his chest, the adrenaline seeping from his body and bringing back gravity, leaving his limbs heavy and spent.

Staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, Dean heard the wind going through the trees outside in a dry, undulating whisper. Morning had to be almost over and the sun shone hot on his legs. Dean could also feel the spunk and olive oil dry on his skin and that sensation was somewhat less pleasant.

Craning around, Dean snatched Cas’s shirt off the floor and tried to clean them up.

“That seems rather pointless,” Cas remarked as Dean rubbed the shirt over Cas’s leg, spreading oil instead of blotting it up.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled and gave up. Tossing the shirt, he settled back on the bed. He’d pull Cas into the shower but not just now. Moving seemed too much of a stupid idea with the bed soft under his back and Cas tucked up close against him.

Dean thought he could make a habit of this. Rising early, going for a swim, going back to bed… with Cas… He liked how the island took the hurry out of their days.

“You were right,” Dean said.

“About what?”

“This is a nice place.”

“It consoled me,” Cas admitted, touching Dean’s amulet before spreading his hand over Dean’s heart. “When I began to fall I thought, as long as there are places like this, being human cannot be all bad.”

Dean didn’t ask how long Cas had clung to that hope because he feared it didn’t last long. He remembered Cas from Zachariah’s future, hollowed out and disillusioned, and felt a wave of gratefulness because the Cas that lay beside him ( _his_ Cas, Dean thought but didn’t say) looked markedly different. He looked, well, pleased.

Trying to stretch out, Cas bumped his shoulder into the wall and Dean shifted to the edge of the bed to make room. Watching Cas tip his head back into the pillow, Dean noticed how his sweat-matted hair curled at the temples. Before he could stop himself, Dean reached out, touching his fingertips to the side of Cas’s face.

“You miss it sometimes?” Dean asked. “Being human, or, you know, almost?”

“No.”

Answering, Cas didn’t hesitate. Dean supposed the denial could have brought him down but it didn’t. From the first time he’d met Cas, Cas had been a linewalker and Dean kind of liked that about him.

“I guess you don’t want to be stuck with the mortal bastards, huh?”

It was meant as a joke, but Cas seemed to consider Dean’s question like it hadn’t occurred to him before. “I don’t want to be bound on Earth any more than I want to be bound in Heaven,” he explained.

“So you’re saying you enjoy being on the road.”

“Yes.”

 _Man, have we been bad company_ , Dean thought and chuckled. He scratched at his belly, then folded his arm behind his head. “That makes two of us.”

He was about to close his eyes when Cas reached over and touched his cheek in something close enough to a caress it made Dean hold his breath. They didn’t do this usually, not the pillow-talk, not the slow, post-sex touching. Carefully, Dean rubbed his face against Cas’s palm, feeling his heart beat a little faster.

“Cas…,” Dean began but then didn’t know how to go on or what he even wanted to say.

Cas stroked his knuckles down the side of Dean’s neck, then fitted his hand over the print he’d left on Dean’s shoulder. The touch sent a shudder down Dean’s spine and he could swear he felt a ghost of heat flare in the hand-shaped scar. Cas pushed up on his elbow and coaxed Dean down on his back, his hand still spread on his original mark. As Cas leaned over him, Dean trailed his fingers up along the curve of Cas’s spine, feeling too spent to do more.

Then Cas looked at him and let a glint of his grace show in his eyes, just a slow flare of electric blue and Dean moaned, his head falling back into the pillow.

He zoned out for a second, pleasure rippling down to his toes, and when he came back, he realized that Cas’s shoulders were trembling and he was laughing against Dean’s collarbone. He’d just found out how easily he could push Dean’s buttons and the bastard _liked_ it.

Dean felt his own mouth twitch into a smile. When he pushed at Cas’s shoulder, Cas dropped down on his side. They shifted around until they lay chest to chest, their legs tangling.

“Is that funny to you?” Dean asked, gripping the nape of Cas’s neck.

“Yes,” Cas said, still grinning. “Yes it is.”

Dean huffed and bumped his forehead against Cas’s, curling his hand around the curve of Cas’s head. Closing his eyes, Dean loped an arm around Cas’s back and tugged him closer.

“I like knowing that you’ll be here when I come down,” Cas said, his mouth almost touching Dean’s. Only Cas could say lines like that and get away with them.

Dean kept his eyes closed and kissed Cas before he could say something stupid like, yeah. He would be there.

  


: : :

  


Dean and Cas took a shower, they made coffee and stripped the sheets off the bed but even though more than an hour had passed, Sam didn’t come back.

“Should we worry?” Cas asked.

“Nah,” Dean said although he felt a little uneasy. “I’ll just see where he’s gone off to.”

Following a hunch, Dean walked the path down through the grove and found Sam down on the shore, sitting on a bleached-out log. He didn’t turn even though he must have heard the gravel clicking under Dean’s feet. Without comment, Dean crossed the beach and sat down next to Sam, parking his butt gingerly on the driftwood.

Hands clasped between his knees, Sam seemed to watch the waves roll in and out. Dean had thought about thanking him for being a generous brother, but being here, he thought better of it. In the end, they just sat in silence for a while. Out over the ocean, a seagull was trying to fly against the wind. She managed a few flaps in the right direction, then glided backward with her wings spread.

Dean looked at Sam from the corner of his eye and it struck him again how much his brother had grown up. He didn’t hunch his shoulders to hide his size anymore. The angles of his face were sharper than Dean remembered. Most of his life, Sam had seemed hunted, restless, eager to do something, eager to solve things. He seemed calmer now.

Sam moved first, rubbing at his eyes before he sat up straight. It looked like something heavy had just rolled off his shoulders.

“All right?” Dean asked.

Sam let out a breath and smiled. “Yeah. All right.”

He picked up the shoes he left by the side of the log. Dean watched him brush sand from his foot-soles before pulling on the sneakers.

“Hey Sammy,” he began. “All that time you badgered me about what I wanted, was that deflection?”

“What?”

“I just,” Dean began, then plunged on. “You know what you want?”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and Dean could see him grope for a way to not answer the question. Then something gave way and Sam sighed out another breath.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. Looking back at the ocean, Sam stretched out his legs and dug his heels into the sand. “You know, all that time I kept thinking, if we kill Yellow Eyes, if we stop Lucifer, I can finally get on with my life. But then I just… ” He paused and frowned. “It all changed and I realized I didn’t even know what I wanted my life to be anymore. Who I wanted to be, you know.”

“And now?” Dean asked.

“Now I think I have time to find out.”

He turned to look at Dean and for the first time in a long time Dean could find no trace of anger or anxiety straining his brother’s face. Instead, Dean saw that his nose was a little pink from all the hours he’d spent walking in the sun.

Dean smiled and watched Sam’s eyes brighten in return.

“Yeah, I guess we all do.”

Brushing bark off his pants, Dean got up off the log.

“C’mon,” he said and thumped Sam’s arm. “We’ll grab breakfast in town.”

“Dude,” Sam said. “It’s twelve o’clock.”

“You _never_ stop, do you?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam shoved him back and they headed back to the track together. It didn’t surprise Dean when they found Cas waiting for them at the edge of the grove. He’d probably stood there the whole time. In addition to his suit-pants, Cas wore one of Dean’s t-shirts. Sam noticed. Dean dared him to ask why.

Cas watched them approach, again with that small, irritated line between his brows and Dean felt a prickle of uneasiness along his spine. This time, Cas’s stare focused on Sam though and the second Sam came into reach, Cas stepped up, pulled Sam against his chest and hugged him.

For a second, Dean fully expected the skies to fall and the earth to crack open.

Sam seemed equally flabbergasted, arms spread and hanging in mid-air as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Cas just clung on, his face smished against Sam’s shoulder.

After a few seconds of this, Sam tentatively put his arms around Cas' back. Now that Sam hugged him back, Dean waited for Cas to step away but instead he held Sam, all six feet and four inches of him. Dean saw Sam relax, his shoulders sinking on a long, exhaled breath.

When Cas finally let go, Sam’s cheeks were flushed but he also had a sheepish smile on his face.

“Uhm,” Dean ventured. “Cas?”

“A hug helps,” Cas informed him and his glare promised Dean that if he so much as tried a joke, he’d be struck by lightning. Cas needn’t have bothered because for once Dean was actually speechless.

Sam stared at the tips of his shoes and Cas stood as rigid as he had during his stoic angel prime time.

“Man,” Dean muttered, slowly recovering from his surprise.

“I believe you wanted to go out for breakfast,” Cas said, voice clipped and neutral.

“It’s… ” Sam began but Dean cut him short.

“Dude.”

Sam lifted his hands. “All right, all right,” he conceded. “Let’s go.”

They started walking, following the edge of the beach instead of returning to the path. As they set out, Sam shot Cas a look and said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas offered and his face softened a little. “I’m sorry if I disrespected your personal space.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said and shrugged. “It’s just weird because you smell like my brother.”

“How would you know how I smell?” Dean cut in.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. You never hug me.”

“Jesus Chri… ”

“That is a shame,” Cas said. “He’s reasonably good at it.”

“I wondered.”

Dean stared at them, both of them wearing faces like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. As Sam and Cas walked on, Dean hung back, wondering just how hard he could throw his flip-flops at their heads.

  


  


IV

  


kōzan-ji, kyoto  
 _a change that goes on_

  


Rain was rolling off the temple roof and cascaded down past the wooden terrace in strings. It looked like a curtain of very small, translucent beads.

Dean stood at the back of Water and Stone hall, socked feet on a finely woven floor mat, cool air purling past his face. On its eastern side, the hall opened to a vista of the wooded hillside, showing a dark green tangle of cedar and maple trees. The rain, little more than a windswept drizzle, billowed over the tree-tops and Dean could see the mist unfurling from the forest.

Someone had placed a bucket near the temple terrace and there was a steady pinging noise as the water dribbled from the eaves onto the tin. Other than that, the place was totally quiet.

Dean had first seen a picture of the Kōzan-ji temple in one of Bobby’s National Geographics. The two piles of yellowed magazines were the only non-hunting reference books Bobby kept around and Dean had read them during some of the downtimes they’d spent at the scrapyard. Back when Dean had leafed through the issue on Kyoto, he’d got stuck on a feature about an ancient Buddhist temple in a remote mountain district. On the pictures, Kōzan-ji was shown as a place tucked away in a looming forest, the walkways between the houses broken up by cedar roots. The temple with its scripture hall dated back to 774; most of its buildings had been destroyed but Water and Stone hall still stood, its roof covered with moss.

Dean couldn’t remember much of the article but the pictures of Kōzan-ji had stuck. He’d liked the stubborn beauty of the place. Coming here, he’d learned that the temple had become a World Heritage Site in 1994. The buildings had been carefully renovated but you could still smell their age.

Dean had strolled around the grounds for a while before he ended up in the scripture hall, enjoying the make and feel of the temple more than he expected. Water and Stone hall’s layout was simple and geometric with a lot of empty space. Dean liked the polished, bare wood of the floor and the lack of ornaments. And of course there was the view, the green back of Mount Takao rising up from the temple’s backyard.

It couldn’t get any more peaceful than that.

A gust of wind splattered raindrops onto the terrace planks and the paper sliding-doors crackled softly. Dean took one last look at the steaming forest, then turned to leave, collecting his shoes by the entrance of the hall. He was the only visitor that day, the spring rains keeping out the other tourists.

Crossing the yard outside Water and Stone hall, Dean passed a Shinto shrine hung with little wooden plaques. The small, square tablets were strung up in bundles, overlapping each other like scales. All of them were covered in dense, black writing.

Dean had already noticed the plaques on his way in and even though he couldn’t read Japanese, he figured out what these offerings were supposed to do. Some of the messages on the plaques were written in all kinds of languages, including English. _I wish to come back here with my sister_ , one said. _Please, let my daughter get out of her marriage okay_ , another. They were all of them prayers and wishes from travellers passing through the temple grounds.

On his way out, Dean stopped by the shrine and looked for a free spot on the rack. When he found one, he pulled a square of paper from his back-pocket. It was one of the pictures Sam had taken on Corfu, a shot of their beach with the turtle-backed island visible across the sea. Dean tacked the picture to the rack amidst the prayer plaques and left.

  


: : :

  


Dean made his way down the path that led away from the temple, rain sliding from his hair down into his collar. He thought about ordering some hot soup back at the inn and walked a little faster.

When Dean had finally suggested a place where they could go, Sam neglected to comment. Cas had zapped them to a bus station in a town at the foot of Mount Takao and they had navigated their way to an inn that rented out rooms from there. That had been yesterday.

Looking up, Dean saw the gate at the end of the path and Sam and Cas waiting under the roof. Cas had put his trenchcoat back on and Sam had pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt. The two of them had already sussed out their next stop, some hot spring spa on another mountain. Dean was all for it, mostly because the badly translated brochure said that the area was famous for their sweet rice cakes.

As of today, they’d been gone from the States for three weeks and four days.

It seemed a lot longer.

  


 _fin_  
___________  
22/11/10

Beta by **auburnnothenna** & **eretria**


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